Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot
by Kailin
Summary: Part seven in the series. It's New Year's Eve; Sam and Foyle try to celebrate, but find they have unexpected company.


_A/N: Part seven. The fallout from Sam and Foyle's engagement continues. Thanks to Persiflage for putting up with me._

_**Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot**_

Sam didn't burst into tears on the way from the vicarage to the station. Always the stiff upper lip, Foyle thought, although he wouldn't have blamed her if she dampened several handkerchiefs. If he had been embarrassed at overhearing her parents' conversation, he could only imagine how Sam felt.

"Well, they didn't say anything that I didn't expect them to be thinking all along," she said in a subdued voice as they settled down to wait for their train. "Still, to hear them say it aloud like that…"

"They hurt your feelings," Christopher said simply as he reached for her hand.

Sam nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Did you say anything else to them after I'd gone out to the taxi?"

Foyle paused, twisted one side of his mouth before answering. "I may have said something about the way voices carry in their house…"

"You _didn't!" _Finally, a smile spread across Sam's face. "Oh, Christopher, I do love you!"

"Although, I doubt that it endeared me to your parents to any great extent," he pointed out. "Don't think it furthered our cause at all."

"That's all right. You're my hero." Sam squeezed his hand, falling silent for a long moment. "What was it that my mother said? That I've had silly jobs ever since you retired from the force? I suppose they have a point there… Working for Sir Leonard, helping Adam at the guest house, cleaning houses for people… Really, the most important thing I ever did was work for you all those years. Almost makes me miss the war, in a way. And I know I shouldn't say such things. But still, I feel it."

"You're still adjusting to civilian life. Imagine what the soldiers are going through. I know I felt it when I came home after the first war."

"But you found something wonderful to do."

"Did I?" Foyle quirked an eyebrow. "Is fighting crime so wonderful?"

"Think what the world would be like without policemen."

"Or their drivers," he countered.

Sam bit her lip thoughtfully. "I suppose I was better at driving than anything else. Maybe I could become a taxi driver."

"Absolutely not. If you think I would want you out on the streets with God-knows-who getting into your car, then think again."

"Oh, I wasn't actually serious. Still, I dread the thought of cleaning houses until next December rolls around."

"Hmmm," Foyle said noncommittally. "We'll see."

…..

Andrew phoned him the next day.

"Thought I might come to Hastings for New Year's."

It was a tentative comment. Foyle knew his son was testing the waters, wanting to see if any hard feelings remained.

"Is your social life in London so poor that you need to come here to celebrate?"

"No. I want you to meet Helen. I thought maybe the two of us could come down and go out to a club on New Year's Eve. Should be much more festive now that the war's over. I was thinking of the Squire's Club. What do you think?"

"The Squire's Club? Rather pricey, isn't it?"

"Maybe. But it's New Year's. Why not celebrate in a big way?"

Christopher chewed the inside of his cheek for a long moment, finally said, "Sam will be around. Do you plan on behaving politely?"

There was a barely audible huff over the phone. "_Yes, _Dad."

"And you and Helen will be staying where, exactly?"

"I thought perhaps we might stay with you."

"Oh?"

"Well, you do have a spare room, Dad," Andrew suggested hopefully.

"I have _two _spare rooms, Andrew," Foyle pointed out.

"Right. Uh… Well, maybe we'll do a hotel. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"No, of course not. Are you serious about this girl, then?"

"It's the same one I told you about three weeks ago." Andrew sounded almost hurt.

"Oh. One of your longer relationships?"

"Dad!"

"Never mind. I look forward to meeting her."

…..

The doorbell rang at three p.m. on New Year's Eve. Christopher answered it, and found Andrew standing there with a woman on his arm. _A blonde this time_, was his initial thought, followed by _rather younger than usual. _He reminded himself to straighten up and fly right and give his son the benefit of the doubt. For now.

"Dad! Hello." Andrew was all smiles. "I'd like you to meet Helen Dalton. Helen, this is my father, Christopher Foyle."

"How do you do, Mr. Foyle." Helen smiled brightly. "Andrew's told me so much about you."

"Has he now?" Foyle said, shooting his son a meaningful glance. "Only the good things, I hope. Please, come in."

The couple stepped inside, and after the usual fuss of depositing hats and coats, settled into the sitting room.

"Tea?" Christopher offered.

"Thanks, but we're on our way to the hotel," Andrew said. "I thought we'd stop by here first."

"Glad you did. Have you been to Hastings before, Miss Dalton?" Foyle settled into an armchair.

"No, I haven't. And please call me Helen."

"Are you from London originally?"

"No, a tiny town near Oxford: Horton-cum-Studley. I came to London to find work."

"And what do you do?"

"Secretarial work. I work in Accounts Payable. That's how Andrew and I met." The young woman cast a sideways, adoring look at the younger Foyle and giggled. "We got to know each other over the Bigsby account."

"We ended up having to work together quite a bit," Andrew added.

"He's wonderful," Helen gushed. "So brave during the war. He told me all about it."

_I'll bet he did_, Foyle commented silently.

"So, how are you, Dad?" Andrew inquired. "How was Christmas in Lyminster?"

"Interesting," Christopher said, an enigmatic smile on his face.

"Oh. Things… not so good?"

Foyle shrugged. He had no intention of going into the story just now. "It'll work itself out. How about your Christmas?"

"It was good. One of the men I work with – his father has a lodge in the country. They're rather the wealthy sort. He had some of us out and we spent a couple of days there. Did the Yule Log and all that sort of thing."

"Sounds pleasant."

"I wish I could have gone, but I wasn't invited," Helen lamented to Christopher.

"I told you, Helen, the Marshalls didn't have that much room. Besides, you were expected home for Christmas," Andrew reminded her.

They chatted amiably for a few more minutes. Foyle wasn't sure if his son was truly over the idea of Sam as a potential stepmother, or if he was merely avoiding the topic in favor of the prospect of a happy evening with a pretty young woman. Eventually, Andrew and Helen left for the hotel, and Christopher dressed for his own evening out.

Foyle's original plan had been for a quiet New Year's Eve at home with Sam, but Andrew's talk of going to a club had set him thinking. Perhaps a night at a club might put Sam in a better mood; she had been in something of a funk ever since their return from Lyminster. A night on the town would at least give them an opportunity to officially celebrate their engagement, and besides, Sam did so love to dance.

…..

The Downs was an unpretentious supper club that had been a Hastings landmark for decades. The original building, which Foyle had visited with Rosalind years earlier, had burned down in 1935. It had been replaced with a modern building, but rumor had it that The Downs still catered primarily to a more mature clientele. In other words, Christopher decided, there was a greater chance that he might actually manage the dancing there.

He wasn't disappointed. By the middle of the evening, he was certain that Sam was convinced that he was a virtual Fred Astaire.

"This is lovely," Sam murmured into his ear as they swayed in time to a throaty vocalist singing, 'It Had to Be You'. "Much more fun than Christmas Eve."

"_All_ of Christmas Eve? I seem to remember some pleasant moments in your parents' pantry."

"Oh, well, there _was _that." She glanced down to where her left hand rested on Christopher's shoulders and admired the small diamond twinkling there. "The high point of Christmas, actually."

"I thought so, too."

"I'm so glad this year is ending, Christopher. Finally, a new year with no war. And by the end of the year, we'll be married. I just wish we didn't have to wait so long."

"I know. Let's just take it a day at a time."

The song ended. Foyle turned to steer Sam back to their table – and came face to face with his son and Helen Dalton.

"Dad?" Andrew looked startled to find his father there.

"Andrew," Sam greeted him politely, "this is a surprise."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the Squire's Club," Foyle pointed out.

"We were there for a while. It was rather a mob scene, I'm afraid. I didn't realize that you two would be here."

"Well, going out tonight sounded like a good idea, and you know that Sam's always up for a spot of dancing."

"Well… Great." Andrew plastered a happy smile on his face and gave his partner an affectionate one-armed squeeze. "Helen, I'd like you to meet Sam – _Samantha – _Stewart, an old friend of mine. Sam, this is Helen Dalton."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Helen."

"You, as well." She eagerly eyed Sam's dress. "I say, that's an awfully pretty frock!"

Sam flushed at the compliment. "This old thing? Well, thanks, but it's practically an antique, I've had it so long."

"We should get to our seats or we'll be trampled," Foyle urged. The band was poised to strike up a new song, and they would soon be swamped by dancing couples. "Where are you two sitting?"

Andrew looked pained. "We're not. We just arrived ten minutes ago. We were sort of hanging out at the bar between dances."

"Why don't you and Helen join us for a while?" Almost immediately, Christopher could sense Andrew tensing. Offering the invitation was the polite thing to do, yet he hated to put a damper on Sam's fun.

"Oh, could we?" Helen, oblivious to the current Foyle family dynamics, piped right up. "I'm afraid I've worn the first new shoes I've had in ages, and they're rather killing my feet. I'm dying to sit for a while."

"I'll fetch our drinks, Helen," Andrew said, resigned. "Be right there."

Foyle led the way to the table. "Sorry," he murmured in Sam's ear. "I'm sure they'll tire of us rather quickly."

"It's all right, really," she whispered back.

They arranged themselves around the table, and Andrew returned shortly with drinks glasses in each hand. Helen immediately reached below the white tablecloth to remove her shoes. She heaved a pleased sigh.

"There, that's better. I suppose it's been so long since I've had new shoes that my poor feet don't know how to react."

"I understand that you and Andrew work together, Helen," Sam said.

"That's right. I can't say I'm very fond of my boss. He's a terrible dictator, but the job itself is all right and the girls I work with are great fun. Certainly much better than hanging about a small village and wasting away."

"Hear, hear," Sam muttered.

"You, too, eh? What do you do, Sam?" Helen wanted to know.

"I'm afraid I'm down to cleaning other people's houses at the moment. During the war, I was in the MTC."

Helen's eyes widened. "Oh, you're lucky! I wish I had been old enough to join up and do my part! It was such a bother to be in school and watch everybody else go off and do this and that."

Sam frowned. "You must have been quite young then."

"I'm eighteen," the young woman announced with a dramatic sigh, as though being that age was the greatest burden in the world.

"Eighteen," Sam repeated, nonplussed.

A muscle twitched in Foyle's cheek, but he remained silent.

Helen was leaning forward eagerly. "So what did you do in the MTC, Sam?"

"Well, I was stationed with the Hastings police. I was Mr. Foyle's driver. He was DCS Foyle at the time."

"Oh. Then you weren't directly involved with the war effort?"

"Sometimes. Some of the cases were directly related to the war. As it happened, I was blown up twice, and very nearly blown up on one other occasion. Luckily, the bomb didn't go off that time."

Helen gasped. "Golly! I'll never be able to have adventures like that now that the war's over. What else happened?"

"Well, we were shot at a few times. And I contracted anthrax once."

"It's a miracle that you lived through it all!" Helen's hand flew to her chest in awe.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam could tell that Christopher was trying very hard to maintain a serious expression. She shrugged and wondered just when she had become so worldly.

"Well, it was… I don't know, it was just part of the job. Others had it much worse – Andrew, for instance, being an RAF pilot and – "

"Yes, but you're a girl!" Helen burst out. "And you've done all these marvelous things! Boys are into danger all the time. It's nothing much to them."

"Isn't it?" Andrew muttered _sotto voce._

"I suppose men are more accustomed to it," Sam offered as she lifted her glass to take a sip. When she did so, the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled noticeably.

"Ooh, you're engaged," Helen exclaimed.

"Yes. Just recently, in fact."

"To…?"

"Me," Foyle put in.

"You mean to say that the two of you met and fell in love because of the war? How romantic!"

Andrew, who had tried rather unsuccessfully to hide a smirk during the discussion, now fixed his father with an accusing stare. "You didn't tell me."

"Well, I didn't have a chance, did I? The two of you were in and out of the house rather quickly, as I recall."

"When are you getting married?" Helen wanted to know, oblivious to the sudden tension between father and son.

"Next December," Sam told her.

"Oh, so long to wait!"

"Tell me about it."

Andrew scooted his chair back from the table abruptly. "Helen, would you like another drink?"

"Yes, please."

As Andrew stalked off to the bar, Christopher rose to his feet. "I think I could use another drink myself. Sam?"

Sam nodded.

Helen eagerly reached over to squeeze Sam's forearm. "While they're gone, do tell me about your wedding plans!"

Foyle ignored the look of desperation his fiancée gave him and went off to join Andrew at the bar.

"Something bothering you, Andrew?" he asked calmly as they waited in the drinks queue.

"Well, you've gone and done it, haven't you?" Andrew said darkly.

"You knew what my intentions were, so why should you be surprised?"

"So what did happen in Lyminster?"

"Besides the Stewarts being rather patronizing and rude toward the both of us? Reverend Stewart did give us his blessing, but on the grounds that we wait until next December to marry."

"They're hoping one of you will call it off."

"Of course," Foyle said with a grimace. "Sam is hoping that they'll change their minds, but I doubt it will happen."

"So I take it they're not happy about the age difference."

"No, they're not. And speaking of such things…"

"What?"

"Helen strikes me as being a bit too young for you," Christopher said in an utterly innocent tone of voice. "Eighteen? Really, Andrew…"

Andrew had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Well, she is a little… ebullient and youthful, I suppose. But I really like her."

"She reminds me a bit of Sam when she was first assigned to me. Although I'm not sure that Sam was ever quite that excitable," Christopher pointed out baldly.

Before Andrew could respond, the queue moved up just then. The younger Foyle turned his attention to placing his order. While waiting for the bartender to pour the drinks, he half-turned and said, "You have to admit, Dad – doesn't this all strike you as rather odd?"

"Frankly, yes. I was thinking you'd buy this round for _all_ of us, being as I invited you to our table."

Andrew groaned. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Yes, I know it's not what you meant. Andrew, you're a grown man and I can't tell you what to do any longer. It also follows that I'm a grown man, and I don't need to ask your permission to marry Sam Stewart."

"Well, at least I already know my stepmother, so I suppose that's something." Andrew plunked some coins onto the bar with a bit more force than necessary, and picked up the drinks just put before him. He took a deep breath and said to the bartender, "That's to cover the next gentleman as well."

"Very good, sir." The bartender slid the money off the counter and dropped it into the till before turning to Christopher and smiling pleasantly. "Good evening, sir, and a very happy New Year to you. What will you be having?"


End file.
